


Of Monsters, Coffees, and Tests of Character

by Medie



Series: Mating Games 2014: Bonus Challenges [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Allison Lives, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Gen, Mating Games 2014: Bonus Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:10:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Stilinski household, coffee is a test of character. Fail at your own peril. And leave the Sheriff's coffee alone. She just doesn't take it well if you don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Monsters, Coffees, and Tests of Character

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Out of Context D&D Quote Bonus Challenge. Quote I went with was "You think you know what I'm going to do? That's adorable." but there is a fair measure of "If you put a crossbow bolt in your mouth and say it's a metaphor..."
> 
> I wanted this to be porny, however I think Chris is a wee bit afraid of the Sheriff and, tbh, I'm kind of enjoying that a little.

Stiles is asleep when she gets in. She swore she wouldn't do this right now, not so soon after getting him back, but the whole damn town's gone to shit and she can't just turn her back. Not now. Not with him still looking at her like she hung the moon, the stars, and a few of the planets in her spare time. 

She unstraps her gear and secures her weapon by rote. There's a light on in the kitchen, the little one over the stove, and she knows what she'll find when she goes in there. It's been tradition for so long she can't remember when, or how, it got started. 

Doesn't matter right now. All that matters is that her little boy is safe, there's a pot of coffee sitting on the stove, and nobody died tonight. She'll take it. 

She walks into the kitchen and Chris Argent hands her a mug.

For a moment, she considers pointing out how many laws he's breaking right now, but forgoes it for sniffing the coffee suspiciously. "Fair warning, you fuck with my coffee and I will end you."

He almost smiles. There was a time she would have found it charming. That was back when she envied his wife and before she found out the man is a professional murderer. 

"Nothing in it but cream and a hell of a lot of sugar," Argent says, the promise of a smile becoming the real thing. "Stiles was very clear how much you weren't supposed to have."

She sips it cautiously. Sweet. Raising a brow at him, she leans against the counter. "I'd say it's illegal to bribe an officer of the law, but something tells me, it's probably not your first time at that particular rodeo." 

With just what Stiles alone has told her, she's reasonably convinced she could lock this man up until doomsday.

Which is an expression that used to carry a lot more weight. Lately, she's begun to suspect that any day ending in y qualifies as a potential doomsday. Double that chance on the weekend when the kids are out of class. 

"You'd be right," he nods. "There isn't much about my life that would be legal." 

"About that," she sips her coffee, "I'd walk softly around McCall for a while. A daughter fresh out of intensive care's only going to buy you so much sympathy." 

"I'm not worried."

She hums, noncommittal. Business like his, she imagines there are more than a few judges on the payroll. Flicking a look at him, she amends that to a hell of a lot of judges. She remembers that stick of his and the snap-crackle of the electricity running through it. 

He catches the look and tips his head. This time, his grin becomes almost charming. "All right, I'm a _little_ worried, but not about him." 

Joanna puts her mug down and folds her arms. She doesn't say anything. One thing the mom job and the cop job have both taught her is the value of silence. It never fails to give someone enough rope to hang themselves. 

With a sigh, Argent paces a few steps away. "You could say something."

She nods. "I could."

"But you won't."

She lets herself smirk. 

Argent grimaces, muttering, "So that's where he gets it," under his breath. She hears him, but hell, he's not wrong, so she's going to let him have this one.

It's about the only freebie he's ever going to get from her. 

"This isn't why I came here," he says, turning around. "I was trying to help."

She bites the inside of her cheek, holds the smirk right where it is, and doesn't say a damn thing. It's not the first time she's gotten this speech from a man, probably won't be the last, but the part about werewolves does kick it up some. 

Argent pours himself a cup of coffee, swallows a gulp, then makes a face. "What the hell did he do to this stuff?"

She can't stop herself from laughing. "In this house, coffee is a test of character. If you can't hack it--" she tips her head toward the door. "Pretty sure you can figure out the rest." 

He downs the rest of it in two gulps and pours another cup. 

Been a long time since she had to count to ten to keep from laughing. It feels good. 

"So," she says, when he's grimaced his way through that one too, "something about helping?"

Argent sits at the kitchen table. "You handled yourself well against the Nogitsune. Better than I would have expected with your inexperience."

Unpinning her hair, she works her fingers through the tangles. Some day, she's going to follow through on her threats to cut it. Of course, the way Stiles looks gut-punched every time she says it, that some day's probably going to be the second Tuesday after never.

Sighing, she shakes it out and goes back to her coffee. "I'd say thank you, but that didn't sound like much of a compliment."

"Believe me, it was," he looks at her. "A few years ago, I would have tried to recruit you."

"I would arrested you," she sits at the table across from him. "You're an accessory after the fact in the Hale murders." She holds his gaze, seeing it when he tries to hide the flinch. "Probably guilty of a few of your own."

"I was trying to protect people," he says, but it's feeble. Her kid could lie better than that when he was three.

Probably earlier and she should probably be worried about how proud she is of that. 

"You don't believe me, do you?"

She smiles. "I believe you believe it."

"But?"

"But I've known Scott McCall a hell of a lot longer than you. I know that boy inside and out. There isn't much he won't tell his mother, but what he doesn't tell her? He usually tells me." She can feel her smile turning cold as she adds, "You'd better pray he never tells Melissa that you held a gun on him for kissing your daughter. It won't end well for you."

He surprises her by nodding. "I wouldn't blame her." Argent takes a breath, holds it for a ten count, and lets it out slow and steady. "I can't bring back the dead, Sheriff. I would if I could."

"No, but maybe you could see your way clear to not adding anymore to the pile." She turns her mug around in her hands, her wedding band clinking against it as she does. "Scott and Stiles have filled me in on a lot. Near as I can tell, there's a lot of blood on your hands. I can't prove most of it," and even thinking of trying to bring him to trial is enough to turn her head inside out, "but doesn't change the fact that it's there."

"I'd make promises," Argent sighs, "but you wouldn't believe them."

"Fact you think you know what I'd do is adorable, but keep talking," she waves fingers at him. All five for anybody playing along at home. "I might be willing to listen."

He looks at her. "When that bomb went off, Derek Hale threw himself on top of me. My sister burned his house down, murdered his family, my father and I--" he closes his eyes and shakes his head. "He should've let me die." 

"And about now you're revising your definition of monster?" 

"About now, I'm starting to think the monster at the end of the story is me."

He's right, but no point in pushing the issue. 

She just gets them a fresh cup of coffee and lets him keep right on talking. He'll figure it out on his own and, maybe, she will too.


End file.
